


First Time is the Easiest

by Runlights



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Natasha's dating service, Pierce still planned the whole thing, Pre-HYDRA Reveal, Rough Sex, Rumlow is a dickbag, Shower Sex, Spiked eggnog, Steve is a guppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runlights/pseuds/Runlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finally gives in and asks someone out, and that person happens to be Rumlow, who feels it's necessary to make Steve work for that first date. He makes the second easier to obtain thankfully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time is the Easiest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chichirinoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/gifts).



> Dedicated to Chichirinoda with Merry Christmas wishes attached to it! She has shamelessly dragged me a little away from Winterbones abuse to Rumlow/Steve abuse. I regret nothing.

***

“Did you ask out Sarah from the I.T. department?”

Steve gave Natasha a flat look, fighting to keep the smile from his lips at her now constant line up of young eligible women for him to ask out. She was persistent, he’d give her that.

“No, Natasha,” he said affably as they walked down the hallway towards the locker room. “I’m staying in for the night.”

“You stay in every night, Rogers. Do you get cold feet when it comes to dating? It’s fun and easy if you just try it,” Natasha said with a flip of her red hair. Dating was clearly old hat for her, and he wondered how she could just so easily find someone seemingly random and decide it was the right girl for him.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the right girl, just a girl and he was supposed to find out for himself along the way. Unfortunately, he had never been good at that, too many years spent in the shadow of a far more social man.

“How many people ask you out?”

As usual, Natasha gave him a mirthless smile that was hedging very closely to predatory. “More than you have managed, I assure you.”

Steve snorted and rubbed a gloved hand through his sweat-stiff hair. “So what I just walk up and ask if they want to go dancing?” He certainly knew that dating had changed and there were far different rituals now.

“Well, you could start with ‘hello’,” Natasha chided with her cheeky smirk. “Then ask her for coffee or dinner or a drink. It’s not hard. Once you do it the first time, you’ll have no problem. Promise me you’ll try?”

“Yeah fine,” he mumbled not because he planned on it but because refusing would have her harassing him for the rest of week. He had a bit too much paperwork to do that would get disturbed by her continual ambushes of names and departments within SHIELD or possible coffee shops he might happen to pass by on one or two routes of his various runs.

Natasha threw him one of her convincing smiles and turned to enter into the women’s locker room. She was going to make certain he made some move, wasn’t she? Yes, she was a spy and information was her forte, much to his regret.

Steve sighed heavily before padding into the men’s locker room, finding that most of the STRIKE team had already come and gone about their business. There was still more than few things to complete now that they were back on base, including weapon and equipment checks, reports to write and no doubt some exposure of all the various bruises and scrapes acquired on the mission, most of which were caused from the post-mission loosening of seriousness.

He admitted to liking to work with the STRIKE teams. They were cordial, effective, well-trained and well-managed by their respective captains. They were a bit more up-to-date than the Howling Commandos, but there was a brotherhood between the men and women that came from years of working together, the kind of camaraderie that long-term soldiers had with one another. In some ways, it was where he felt like he belonged the most despite usually keeping himself at a distance given his higher rank and the STRIKE’s intense respect for him. It had stopped bothering him, aware there was always a line in the sand between the units and the leader of the operation.

He walked over to his locker and dialed the code into the lock, not that anyone would really steal in an intelligence agency. If they did, the information wouldn’t be kept in a locker with combat gear, smelly old socks long ago lost and the occasional pornography magazine. Not even the twenty-first century had changed the men of this age.

His locker was clean, sparse and carried only his gear, his clothing, and the essentials for having a shower. There were no pictures on his door, no mirror to admire himself, not knick-knacks collected from operations to admire when he had time. There were times he looked inside and realized that it could be anyone’s locker because it was so non-descript. Well, unless his current uniform was in it.

“…Hunter got tickets to the game on Saturday, and asked if we wanted to go…”

“…yeah sorry, but you know how much I love sports designed to cause permanent brain damage…”

“You just won’t admit that football is far more entertaining than baseball,” Rollins’ voice sounded closer. “But if you get tickets to a New York game, I’d still go.”

Rumlow came around the corner of the lockers, looking back at the STRIKE team’s second-in-command. “That’s because you’re the world’s biggest and ugliest mooch for live sports.”

“I like the atmosphere,” Rollins said defensively before looking at him and nodding. “Cap.”

“Hey Cap,” Rumlow added with a nod of casual respect.

Rumlow and Rollins were both only in towels, clearly having just finishing their showers, but neither were concerned with his presence still in full uniform. Those two men got along well, and it always surprised him how Rollins spoke most to Rumlow but otherwise was an effective and intelligent silent shadow otherwise. The two were probably the most interesting captain and second that he had worked with, and where Rumlow was good at talking, Rollins was an even better listener and the two had an uncanny ability to communicate with looks.

Steve shifted and set his shield onto the floor to lean against the bank of lockers. He began to strip out of his uniform, hanging it on the hooks for the time being until he could get it removed to be laundered. Despite not trying to listen in, it was difficult not when with the two talking at Rumlow’s locker.

“You know what you like? It’s those stupid giant foam hands. How many of those do you have? Probably enough to make an entire foam pit in your living room.” A subtle glance showed Rumlow to be applying deodorant.

Rollins frowned darkly but refused to answer the question. “You’re typical.”

“Yeah, what was that? You’d still go to any game you could get your greasy fingers on so you can slip on one of those foam hands on? Is that what I heard?” Rumlow, as usual, seemed only to know how to push when some kind of advantage was perceived. Steve had to smile.

Rollins simply threw Rumlow a dismissive look and withdrew to go to the other side of the lockers to begin to dress. It seemed that that was the end of the banter for the moment.

Steve finished removing his uniform and had it all hanging on the hooks before he was forced to reach in and grasp his civilian clothes that were neatly folded on the small bottom shelf. He set it on the bench that he noted Rumlow was currently sitting further along pulling on trousers, and he found his gaze lingering on the fresh scrape on the man’s shoulder, no doubt from the operation.

“You should get that looked at,” Steve murmured as he went back to his locker for his shoes.

“It’s just a scrape,” Rumlow replied with a casual shrug. “Nothing a big boy like me can’t handle.”

It wasn’t that bad, really. He had seen members of the team far more injured than that, but he always found Rumlow so careful and efficient. The man carried a swagger of invincibility that rolled down hill to the men and gave them the confidence to be at their best in every situation.

“How did you get it,” Steve asked.

Rumlow flashed him a grin as the STRIKE captain stood from the bench to hike pants over hips. “Would you believe itching on the quinjet door?”

“I can’t say that I would, but if that’s the story you want to go with,” Steve said with good humour. He liked Rumlow; the guy was casual but always professional with him.

“Well, the truth is a long story that might incriminate me,” Rumlow replied.

“We could do that over drinks.” Steve felt his face flush when he realized what he had done. Okay, Natasha couldn’t be mad at him; he had asked just… not a nice young woman. A part of him felt the usual thrill of being a bit of a rebel. “Or… dinner, if you’re prefer.”

Rumlow made a soft clicking noise that Steve well remembered his mother doing to show a sort of disapproval, but the STRIKE captain’s eyes roamed over him as he stood in only his underwear with an appraising way that had his ears feel very warm. It was almost indecent. He shouldn’t be feeling this sort of anticipation from just a look, but if he wasn’t so aware of the fact they were in a rather public locker room, he probably would have let his toes curl.

Their eyes met several times as Rumlow seemed to be intent to see if he might actually squirm. When it became apparent that aside from a fierce blush, he wasn’t about to wiggle in his current spot, the STRIKE captain relented and casually pulled on a black form-fitting shirt.

“Just… sort of threw that one out there, did you?”

“I… yes,” Steve admitted honestly. His ears were still burning.

“It’s an admirable thing and all, Cap, but you deserve a much nicer guy than me,” Rumlow said as if just talking about the weather.

It wasn’t a ‘no’ per say, not with the way that the other man was glancing at him shrugging on a jacket and slipping into a pair of old ratty runners, so out of place with the rest of Rumlow’s outfit. It was obvious that the STRIKE captain didn’t even care what anyone thought, and he could admit that drew him a bit to the man, that confidence.

“So…” Steve said lamely before swallowing his embarrassment and forged ahead with a tentative smile. “Does that mean you’ll think about it?”

Rumlow actually looked surprised by his persistence. “Sure, I’ll think about it, but in the mean time, find a nice guy if that’s the game you want to play.”

Rollins came around the corner again fully dressed and packed up to go, and the second-in-command seemed no more aware of the conversation. The man waited as Rumlow finished packing up and the two turned to leave together.

“Later Cap,” Rumlow called with a casual wave. “Nice panties by the way,” came the added jest. It was only then he realized how long he had been standing there in nothing but his boxers.

Still no date though. Natasha should have been proud he had asked anyway. One thing she was right about was that it did get easier to ask after the first time.

***

The Venezuela jungle required them to parachute to the ground drop zone. It was a standard operation, and it was the first time that he had been on mission with Rumlow’s particular STRIKE team. He was slipping his helmet on and securing the chin strap. He tightened the strap to his wrist communicator, lifting it to his mouth to listen for any crackle. Nothing.

“Secure channel five,” he said as he moved to the back of the quinjet.

“Channel five secure,” Rumlow said behind him before the man went back to clipping into a parachute.

Steve looked around and noted that the rest of STRIKE was getting equipped but no one else had a communicator hooked on.

“Rumlow,” Steve whispering in the communication unit when he saw the captain adjusting a jacket collar.

He was given a flat stare for misuse of the communication channel, but Rumlow also seemed to find it amusing enough to play along. “You know, Cap, not only is this against regulations, but it’s the equivalent of passing notes in class.”

Steve shrugged and only gave Rumlow his most innocent and charming smile, keeping the communication unit to his lips. “Have you thought about my offer yet?”

“Have you found yourself looking at any nice young men yet?”

“No,” he replied.

Rumlow smirked at him and brushed passed him to slam the button to drop the back of the quinjet down for safe descent. “Then I’m still thinking about it.”

He opened his mouth to make a convincing argument, but the rest of STRIKE was sounding down the channel to also add their voice to its security. He stared at Rumlow where the wind ruffled the man’s dark hair and felt a very unreasonable flush burn the tips of his ears when the man winked at him.

***

Steve held his hands out unobtrusively as his eyes followed not only the rise and fall of the bar but looking for strain on Rumlow’s face. His fingers brushed the bar as it descended to the STRIKE captain’s chest, and he could easily hear the grunts of effort as the other man continued to bench press Rumlow’s known top weight limit another four times.

The captain’s face was starting to twist with effort, but he didn’t interfere as spotter until he saw the gentle tremble down Rumlow’s arms and helped the bar up a touch where it could settled back into start position.

“No, I’ll do one more,” Rumlow said. The man was always one to push the letter just a little, yet always still within the boundaries of being safe.

He shifted closer when the bar settled against Rumlow’s chest and the man struggled to get it up again, bracing his knees on the legs of the bench the STRIKE captain was laying on. He curled two fingers from each hand under the bar and helped Rumlow to lift it, though just enough to get it up not to actually take the efforts out of the man’s press.

Rumlow was panting at the end, wiping at sweat with a towel and flashing him a cocky but thankful grin. “Thanks, Cap.”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Like the first time, it just sort of fell out of his mouth. Just like the first time, he flushed in embarrassment even as Rumlow issued a bark of laughter.

“Are you really asking me on a date when I’m in position to nuzzle your thighs?”

Steve couldn’t help the hotness of his face, and he took an immediate step back from the bench, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. His flush wasn’t entirely from embarrassment either, but he had enough good sense to not make a quick move towards the exit even as Rumlow sat up and looked at him.

He somehow managed to give a cheeky smile. “Is that a yes?”

“To the date or nuzzling your thighs?” Rumlow was relentless, but the man rose gracefully from the equipment bench and _leered_ at him. “I’ll think about it, but I’m busy tomorrow night all the same.”

“Right, I’ll try again,” Steve said and it suddenly seemed apparent that he would. The more that Rumlow teased him, the more he wanted to see where this would lead.

***

The elevator was one of the places in SHIELD that could be the most private or the least depending on the time of day. The only good thing about it was that it gave a fabulous view over the Potomac at all times. It was rare to find it actually empty regardless during the hours of nine-to-five though, and Steve felt that distinct thrill tingle up his spine as he and Rumlow entered it together.

“Records,” the STRIKE captain said before shifting the rolls of old maps that they had been using for planning out the new operation on their radar.

“So…” It was like a dance by now with the number of times he eagerly found opportunity.

Rumlow, forever a patient man, indulged him. “Who is Romanoff setting you up with this week?”

“I think her name is Tanya from operations,” Steve said good-naturedly. He instead looked at the shorter man next to him and then out of the elevator glass. “It’s a nice night.”

“You need to work on your lead up, Cap,” Rumlow said with a smirk. “That’s the kind of lead you use on women who don’t know what you’re up to.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“You’ve been asking me to coffee, dinner, a drink, a movie, or a dance for the last three months.” There certainly was no rejection to his antics, and it really had become something of a game. He wasn’t actually certain if Rumlow was making excuses to keep it going or if the man really wasn’t interested. “Next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to mini-golf.”

“It’s a bit cold for mini-golf,” Steve replied.

“Nah, I don’t mind the cold,” Rumlow said as the man shifted the many rolls of maps and blue prints to the other arm. “Cold skin is totally worth it just to feel it warm up under your hands.”

Steve had to swallow hard and stare at the wall. There was something of a caress in Rumlow’s tone, and it highlighted all the indecency that that kind of activity would entail. “Would you like to go for a game of mini-golf?”

The elevator sounded and came to a stop before the doors opened and Rumlow threw him the kind of smile that was identical to the one found on sharks. “I’ll think about it. Until then, keep those hands of yours cold for me, okay?”

He watched the STRIKE captain swagger from the elevator to drop off the rolls of paper, and he had to wonder if he was going to spent the rest of his life with a dry mouth and his ears burning.

***

Steve folded his arms across his chest and certainly not because he was cold, but he found his eyes lingering on the detainees that STRIKE had picked up after a standard training exercise with new equipment. They had been the closest unit in the area, so they were helping out Homeland Security and Border Patrol in apprehending the twenty people caught sneaking into the country. He felt bad for these people, but he knew the system worked to some degree.

Rumlow came up to him with a soft ‘burrr’ and handed him a hand-written list. “That’s as much as we got out of them, and the spelling is probably wrong for their names. They don’t speak a lick of English.”

Steve nodded, looking over the list and waving on the rest of STRIKE to load this group up and secure them into the two quinjets that they had. So much for team building exercises. He really had been hoping to isolate Rumlow in the scrub bush and take the guy prisoner for evading him in the hallways for the last month.

“Can I buy you hot chocolate when we get back?” Oh well, there was opportunity, so why not use it?

Rumlow snorted and waved on the line of people being marched towards the quinjets. “Depends. Are you going to put Kahlua in mine?”

“Maybe,” he replied uncertainly. He wasn’t a big fan of alcohol because the effect was wasted on him and after seventy-years in the ice and one look at alcohol prices nowadays, it seemed like a waste for the taste alone.

“Well… I’ll think about it. How’s the nice guy search going?”

“Not so great. I’ve got my eye on someone, and it’s distracting me from taking a hard look,” he replied pointedly, his eyes drifting from the foreign detainees to Rumlow. “Are you going to agree to my requests for dinner and a movie?”

“Oh, we’re combining the requests now?” The STRIKE captain issued another soft noise into the cold and rubbed gloved hands together. “Next thing you know it will turn into naked wrestling.”

Steve felt himself shift where he stood; he wouldn’t mind that. Of course, imagining it made his ears feel warm. It had been awhile since Rumlow had managed that. Clearly, their game was getting interesting again.

One of the foreign detainees gave them a startled look, and Steve had to fight for a serious expression, which was difficult given the heat coming off of his ears. Rumlow was pretty much cool about everything and glared at the individual in question.

“Oh don’t go pretending you speak English now.” Rumlow sure was something else. Steve couldn’t help but smile. “Besides, being asked out by a National Icon is in the Lonely Planet’s Guide for must see Wonders of the World. Now _get_.” The last word was emphasized with a finger crooking towards the quinjet.

***

“Here, Carol wanted me to give this to you,” Hunter said, handing Rumlow a sheet of paper as they all stood in the armory handing off their clean weapons. “The Carol from accounting, not the Carol from statistics. Or the Carol from security. Or the Carol on STRIKE echo.”

It was hard to realize just how many people worked for SHIELD until names began to get mixed up, and it always happened before the SHIELD Christmas party. There were so many people expected to go and they were expected to not come alone, to bring a small gift for exchange (which was awkward given how many people were there), and to enjoy themselves to the fullest. Those who currently found themselves without a significant other or friend to invite often surfed for other employees of SHIELD. It was apparently a competition for some to try to catch the most high-ranking parts of each department.

Steve had already had twenty-two people asking him to go with them. He had politely declined everyone so far, hoping in some vain way to be able to catch Rumlow but the guy was currently using the new tactic of being surrounded by people at all times. They could go as comrades, not for any real reason beyond that, but the STRIKE captain was apparently getting requests too.

“Is Carol from accounting the big girl with the nice… er smile?”

“No, that’s Carol from statistics,” Hunter said good-naturedly. The kid had an uncanny ability to recognize people. “Accounting Carol lost her cat two months ago.”

Rumlow shot Hunter a suspicious look before beginning to hand in rifles, hand guns and a few grenades back into lock-up. “How do you even know that?”

“Oh, she told me about Frankie in the cafeteria. And she said she’d like a reply by the end of the day You’re actually going to this Christmas party, right?” Hunter seemed almost genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I can’t have food poisoning two years running, which is a shame. Maybe I can contract Norwalk virus? No bird flu. Maybe tetanus this year.”

“Stepped on any rusty nails lately, Captain Rumlow?” Hunter was a smart kid and knew when the play along.

“I can find one between now and then,” Rumlow replied thoughtfully.

Steve tried not to smile at the conversation, aware that Rumlow was painfully private like most STRIKE team members. They kept their private lives to themselves, and it was no wonder given the risks that they were all taking for the sake of security. Christmas was the only big event for SHIELD employees and at least the Triskelion was going to be transformed to suit the festive mood.

He smiled at the two men as Hunter and Rumlow left the room, and he proceeded to deposit his pistol and the knife that he often took on missions. His shield stayed with him and no one contested it being on his back as he turned and slipped passed the remaining members of STRIKE looking to sign-in their gear again.

He received two more written invitations to the party before he had caught up to Rumlow and Hunter again, though they were now joined by Rollins. The first two seemed to be having some kind of argument.

“…but there will be eggnog. Who spikes eggnog at a company Christmas party?”

“A government agency full of spies, that’s who,” Rollins rumbled softly.

“But eggnog,” Hunter whined.

“Yeah well, either way, don’t let me near that stuff. I get handsy after I drink it,” Rumlow said. “Spiked or no.”

Steve couldn’t help suddenly perking at the mere notion and felt like he may be invading a private conversation. He wasn’t because the STRIKE captain shot a subtle look back as if to make certain he was in range to hear that little tidbit. So, really, all the avoidance was leading up to that, was it? He gave Rumlow a determined look as he caught up for the three.

Steve ended up going alone to the Christmas party, which he considered for the best because his locker was so full of invitations by the time it came around, he could heat his place on the paper alone for at least four days. He also reasoned that it was easier to slip out rather than have to play host to a date who might want to show him off. He had also been informed that most departments were hoping to catch him under the mistletoe.

It was a good time all the same, full of hand shaking with people he didn’t know and some that he did. Nick was there, obviously having taken Natasha as the ‘date’. Barton was playing Santa Clause and organizing the massive gift exchange. Everyone tried to take his gift just to make him walk around taking someone else’s. By the end of it, he was pretty sure it was still really inappropriate that he received at least four cat-calls. The eggnog had definitely been spiked.

He found that he had eventually earned himself a pink snuggy. It was the perfect size to wrap his shield in so it didn’t scrape on the floor under his bed.

He would have ducked out at that point, but he came to appreciate the accuracy of Rumlow’s claim to being handsy after drinking eggnog. The hand that found its way onto his left butt-cheek certainly realized the claim to the true, especially at the rather bold squeeze that followed with the rather inappropriate groping.

“You’re not wearing your snuggy,” Rumlow said, eyeing the pink package. The hand on his backside stroked up and down without a hint of concern for observers. “At least they didn’t make you play Santa Clause this year? I had you pegged for the job.”

“Er Rumlow… your hand,” Steve pointed out and certainly not out of embarrassment. It was just that they kept a professional physical distance from each other all the time when in public and almost every time in private.”

“What about it?”

That was definitely fingers teasing right down the crack of his ass and he gulped down the glass of eggnog that he currently had. “It’s on my backside.”

Rumlow actually looked to make certain that his claim was accurate. “Well, so it is. Fancy that, Cap.” There was a pause while the STRIKE captain took a quaff of eggnog. “It’s a nice ass. Have I ever told you that before?”

“No, not until today anyway,” Steve replied, easing himself slightly closer to Rumlow. His right cheek became a rather willing victim of a groping. “So…”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Cap,” Rumlow said with a toothy grin. “Just let me appreciate the firmness of your ass for a minute longer. Damn, it’s so nicely firm and muscled like ripe melons. Anyone ever play the bongos on them?”

Steve felt his ears go pink _again_ , and he saved himself from answering by drinking the rest of the stuff in his glass. So handsy and rather loose-lipped? Now he was more than suspicious that someone had spiked it, especially when Rumlow’s arms curled around his waist and the man’s cheek was pressing against his arm. There was a bit of a swaying motion that might have been dancing or it might have been a strange attempt to grind on his thigh.

“So eggnog, huh?”

“Yeah, should have contracted Norwalk,” Rumlow agreed affably. “Did you keep your hands cold for me like I asked?”

“No, they’re pretty warm.” Steve shifted given that the STRIKE captain was literally leaning as much weight on him as possible. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it easily, but it put Rumlow at a really odd angle and people were glancing over in amusement.

“Damn shame,” Rumlow replied. And then he proceeded to snore.

***

January was a slow time of year for all people, even the intelligence-gathering and distributing agency of SHIELD. There were fewer missions, which meant more training exercises. For veterans to the action, it was a boring time of year, making men edgy. It was also the best time of year for the vending machines in the building because there was little money to buy large objects after Christmas and less to do but eat cheap snacks.

Steve caught Rumlow at one tapping some buttons, and he really moved over because he was curious over the choice of snack rather than for buying anything himself. He smiled at the STRIKE captain rustling the newly acquired bag of salted peanuts and shook his head. Always a tease.

“You realize those are way cheaper if you buy them in bulk at the supermarket,” he pointed out helpfully.

Rumlow gave him a withering stare. “Get with the times, Cap. People throw money away on frivolous things or don’t bother to look into prices much unless it’s a television, a car, or the kind of home theater system that blows your hair off.”

Steve was painfully aware of the fact they lived in a wasteful society. It was a huge difference from when he remembered his own young adulthood where people made do with what they had, fixed things instead of throwing them away. He just had to shrug his shoulders and glance in the vending machine, curious of it but having never bought anything. He could hear Rumlow chewing on peanuts.

“Has Fury hinted at any missions at all?”

“Nope, I figure he’s staying scarce after he was exposed for the happy drunk he is and how many Christmas carols he was convinced to sing,” Rumlow said with a vicious razor smile. “Rollins got video of it.”

Steve raised his eyebrows towards his hairline. “And how long before Fury replaces all of our phones because of that?”

“I figure we’ll be issued new ones within the next day or so,” the STRIKE captain agreed before tossing back a few more peanuts. He offered Steve the package. “Peanut?”

He took what was offered and smiled. “Thanks.” As he chewed on a few, he realized they actually weren’t so bad.

“You know, you’re starting to worry me, Cap. We’ve had an entire solo conversation without you making suggestion of me going out with you. Are you giving up?” Was there challenge in Rumlow’s voice? “Or have you finally found that nice guy you were looking for? Or girl, since I’m sure Romanoff is still giving you a hard time.”

Steve rolled the last few peanuts in his open palm and regarded Rumlow before straightening his spine and setting his shoulders. “No, I’ve been thinking of a new tactic, that’s all.”

Rumlow looked genuinely interested. “Oh, do tell, or is this one of those ‘surprises’ I’m going to have to look forward to?”

He threw back the last of the peanuts into his mouth, chewing them thoughtfully as he wiped his salty palm on his pant leg absently. He then seized Rumlow by the shirt front and the waist belt, picked the much smaller man up and slammed the STRIKE captain into the vending machine plastic before he stepped in and crowded Rumlow there, using every inch of their height difference to his advantage as he menaced the other man.

He jabbed a finger into Rumlow’s chest. “Now you listen here, this is how it’s going to be,” he said with an air of aggressive authority. “You _are_ going to go on a date with me. You _are_ going to enjoy it. After that, you and I are going to enjoy another date after that when our schedules align to do so. Am I perfectly clear, Rumlow?”

The bag of peanuts could be heard hitting the floor between them and Rumlow was staring at him as if the STRIKE captain had just met the real him for the first time. He was still driving his finger into the agent’s sternum, but Rumlow apparently only had eyes for his face right about now. They stared at each other for a long minute sizing one another up.

“You’re clear, Cap,” Rumlow finally said with a throaty rumble that he had never heard before. “Tonight then. You pick me up in the locker room at eight, and we’ll see if you really mean it.”

“I do,” Steve replied, still crowding Rumlow.

“You should find a much better man than me. A nice guy.”

“Maybe I don’t want a nice guy. Maybe I want a really bad one.” He had no idea why he said that, but his expression was hard and determined. He was going to get what he wanted in this. “Maybe I just want _you_.”

Rumlow somehow managed to kiss him fiercely, and the gesture was so surprising, his mouth gaped open for a moment. That gave the STRIKE captain plenty of opportunity to bite at his lips and slip a tongue in his mouth to tease before tearing away and shoving at him. He was still surprised by the sudden kiss that he actually backed off and Rumlow slipped out from between him and the vending machine.

“You taste like salty nuts and innocence. My favourite,” Rumlow cheekily said before winking at him. “Eight o’clock. Don’t be late or I’ll make you regret it.”

He was thrown what was no doubt a teasing salute before the STRIKE captain marched off. He was left with a spilled bag of peanuts, a warped and damaged vending machine, the taste of salt and mint in his mouth and an erection. Rumlow really was good at being bad.

***

By eight-thirty, they had managed to make it to the deserted communal showers in the men’s locker room and were kissing so fiercely that their lips were swollen and Rumlow had bitten him so many times on the neck that he had lost count. He managed to turn on the water to pretend like they were being productive and to warn off any cleaning staff that the room was occupied. As if the emergency door being closed and locked wasn’t indication enough not to disturb them.

Rumlow’s hands were busy, and the bite of blunt nails down the length of his back drew a pleasured gasp out of him. His own hands snapped down and caught the underside of the STRIKE captain’s thighs in order to haul Rumlow right up the tiled wall where he could pin the other man with his chest. Their mouths clashed with more teeth than lips, a hungry need that he couldn’t say that he had ever felt before twisting his guts with such strong arousal that he thought he might get swept away by it.

His partner was clearly the more experienced one, and, while it was rough and fast and altogether too hot, he was tugged along with gestures and soft throaty growls. He shuddered when Rumlow’s legs curled down his thighs and twisted around so that the STRIKE captain’s feet hooked on his knees. It pretty much pinned their hips together, and it required so little movements for their erections to rub together.

“Come on, Rogers, don’t make us wait,” Rumlow growled in his ear before pointedly jabbing a hip into his arousal. He saw stars momentarily because it felt so good.

He dropped his hips obediently but with more enthusiasm than he probably should have. He lined himself up, trying his hand at teasing and earning a groan and more nails across his shoulders. It was his turn to groan, his lips parted and his hot breath racing across Rumlow’s cheeks.

“Don’t we have to…?”

“No, shut up and hurry this up,” Rumlow growled at him. “I want it, and so do you.”

There was something in the impatience of Rumow’s tone that convinced him even in his pleasure-filled haze that they were both barely clinging to self-control. He pushed inside the other man and moaned far louder than he meant to at the wet tight heat that surrounded him. It was all he could do to breathe as he pushed into the STRIKE captain who squirmed and swore softly into his ear.

“Did you…?” He just had to ask.

“I had time on my hands,” Rumlow replied with a cocky smirk and then a twist of hips that blanked any other sensible comment that he might try to make.

There was no time for talk, and he was a complete wreck by that point anyway. He began to move slow at first and then quickly picking up his pace as the pleasure coursed along his nerves like fire, and it was emphasized with the feel of Rumlow moving with him. That lasted until he pinned the other agent to the tiles in his eagerness to experience this to the very end.

Fingers gripped his shoulders tightly. Obscene words whispered hotly in his ear when he rested his forehead against the much cooler tiles. Time seemed short but the experience was like nothing else that he had even imagined before.

Rumlow responded to his urgency that was probably a bit on the rough side with growls of pleasure and more combat to urge him on. He felt teeth and then lips against his neck, the hot burst of pain heightening the pleasure in a way that he had only thought possible in warfare. If anything, he liked it _more_ in this situation.

“God, Rumlow,” he hissed between harsh pants for air. He received only a knowing chuckle in reply.

Steve didn’t bother to stop his hands tightening on the STRIKE captain’s thighs, his nails digging in to earn a similar response from Rumlow. They would wear their bruises with pride for as long as they lasted. He wondered what stories the other agent was going to make up to explain them.

The crux of their passion came with Rumlow’s hands grabbing his ass and his chest pinning the STRIKE captain so hard, a tile or two might have cracked. They were groaning between pants, and he had reached a desperate pace that left the other man clinging hard to him with nowhere to go but bouncing up and down, suffocating on pleasure and enjoying it between his body and the tiles.

They each gave a final cry as their orgasms took them, and he shuddered at the sudden wet warmth between their bellies that had nothing to do with a shower. His own contribution to the unison had Rumlow arching and pressing down into his hips. If he didn’t know the STRIKE captain was in such good shape, he was certain the other agent might expire giving the rate of Rumlow’s breathing.

He rested his forehead against the tiles, panting and savouring the completeness of victory after _months_ of chasing. He pressed his hands out onto the tiles and let them cool, finding the coolest spot outside of the water’s spray as Rumlow’s breathing began to slow and even again.

Then he assaulted the STRIKE captain’s backside with his now cool palms. “Ah, you asshole,” Rumlow swore affectionately at him. His hands quickly warmed back up.

Steve shifted and allowed Rumlow to unwind from his lower half, stepping back enough to allow the water to wash away the mess on their stomachs and that sliding down the other agent’s thighs. He passed a hand through his hair and smirked his victory and the fact he had taken his prize despite Rumlow having planned it that way.

Who knew all it took was ramming the man into a vending machine?

“So… I got a pair of tickets to the Washington Capitals next week,” Rumlow said casually. “You wanna go with me?”

“Agent Rumlow, are you asking me on a date?”

“Technically you already demanded a second one when you made the first one, so I’m just setting the venue. You like hockey?” Rumlow stepped up to him, confident and secure as ever and also wearing at least three hickeys.

Steve shrugged, not minding where they went. “How did you get them?”

“Oh, I knew Pierce had season’s tickets, and I suspected he’d give a pair away at the gift exchange. Everyone thinks Pierce will fire them if they take his gift,” Rumlow said with a cocky smirk. “Never a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“I guess we have a venue for our second date, though this one is not over.” Steve gave Rumlow a hard look and received a flick of hips and fingers sliding across his chest as the STRIKE captain padded out of the showers. “My place it is.”

***

Rollins was apparently incensed that Steve was going to the hockey game. He found this out when there was angry whispering in Rumlow’s ear on two separate training sessions to try out some new weapons and body armour. He only verified it in the usual way… in the locker room.

“…what the hell did he do that made you pick him over me?”

Rumlow paused on the edge of the lockers, no doubt aware that he could hear. “I’m not telling,” the STRIKE captain said in an eerily good sing-song voice. “Buy me a vending machine, and maybe we’ll talk.”

Rollins frowned and looked around the lockers at him lacing up his shoes. “Did he punch the vending machine to get you free peanuts?”

“Nope, but there were nuts involved,” Rumlow replied cheekily and shoved Rollins away. “I’ll get you a damn foam hand or whatever they sell, you ugly mooch.”

“Fine, but none of those cheap plastic air filled tubes you beat together,” Rollins grumbled as the man slinked away to the other side of the lockers. “And I like the atmosphere!”

Steve shook his head at the antics and pushed his uniform into his bag, flicking his gaze to watch Rumlow remove the towel. The bruising on thighs and the chest had reached that yellow stage with blotches of purple, but the other agent wore them like badges of honour.

He walked passed and gave Rumlow’s backside a subtle swat. “You’re being a bit obvious, aren’t you?”

Rumlow smirked at him and toweled off. “You regretting pursuing me?”

“No,” Steve replied easily.

“You will,” Rumlow said with that shark’s smile. “Give it time, Cap. You should have stuck with the nice guys.”

He chuckled and messed up Rumlow’s hair just to say that he did. “I like the bad one I cornered against a vending machine just fine.” He waved at the STRIKE captain and left the room, since he had agreed to cook tonight after badgering Rumlow during sparring to come over. He now knew the technique to getting Rumlow both aroused and agreeable to his pursuit to something a little more than casual.

He missed the kiss that was blown to him as the door closed. He also missed the way that Rollins lurked on the side of the lockers and the knowing look the two exchanged.

Steve never regretted pursuing a bad man either. He probably should have when it all came to light, but a part of him thrilled and relished those months. He wouldn’t take them back for an instant even when he gargled his mouth with Listerine six times when he got out of the hospital after Insight.

Steve still ate salted peanuts from vending machines too. They still tasted the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my work and any comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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